Bald Tires and Broken Kettles

Miss Fire
Will misfire.
Hundred years later
I skip galaxies
On a bald tire.
I can't have a break,
Or hit the brakes.
I see no rights,
Though I spot the fakes.

It's been more than a decade and I taught myself to lose what I had with you,
Another ten years until I will have had the courage to face me and face you.
Look at him - he spins my head with his strangely preserved innocence,
And look at me - I take a straight road and turn left instead of right:
As if every single road, ever, had been one to you, to bathe in dreams and light.
Yes, that is what I had replaced you with, one with battle scars, just like you.
One that was broken down and built up, up, up just like you
One torn down by many and living on cracks, just like you.
It will have taken me so long to look and actually see him, like I saw you.

You call me out loud, but it sounds just like somebody's name.
Your pull weak, my push strong - I only have myself to blame.

Everything I ever loved is broken in a way,
Everything I ever loved can die within a day,
Everything I ever loved died so many times,
Everything I ever loved is a bunch of torn-up rhymes.

Miss Battle
Will rattle.
Fifty years later
I feed huge crowds
From a broken kettle.
I can't seem to think
Or understand things
All of my lifelines
Are broken strings.

It's been more than a decade I lost a part of me shaped suspiciously like you,
Another ten years until I will have remembered that you're missing from somewhere, too.
Look at him, he dances to his beat, alone before my eyes, in transience,
And look at me - In awe, like a seven-year-old child, the moment he puts on a smile:
As if I was looking at him the way I first did at you, back when a year of pain was worth the while.
Yes, that is what I had replaced you with, one with extreme high tides, just like you.
One protected after it was all over and damage done, just like you.
One that I won't be seeing again for a very long time, just like you.
It will have taken me so long to see him as two point x, just like you.

You come to my dreams, but I think life is telling me that I failed.
Your signal weak, my white noise strong - out, out, out, I bailed.

Everything I ever was is broken in a way,
Everything I ever was can die within a day,
Everything I ever was died so many times,
Everything I ever was is a bunch of torn-up rhymes.

- August 10th, 12th and 13th, 2016


The poem happens close to ten years ago. The narrator is experiencing a strange kind of a natural high that feels the same way as some people describe intoxication and she gets lost when she only has to follow a long straight and turn to the right, because she turns...to the left. Then she remembers the only time in her life than she had been excited by anything to that extent. She ignores the answer that could have brought her some peace. The rest is hard to explain.

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